Harry Potterman and the Half-Baked Latke
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: Harry Potterman knew he was different, with his incurable sarcasm and panic attacks. Finally, a large stranger reveals the truth: "You're a Jew, Harry!" Now Harry's off to Treifwarts School of Banking and Jewry, to learn such magical skills as Math, Arguing, Guilt, and more! But the castle is plagued with mysteries, monsters, and a sinister bootlegger who wants Harry dead...
1. You're a Jew Harry!

**Hi there everybody! I'm new to this whole fan-fiction thing, so let me introduce myself. I'm a proud mother of three, living in Skokie, Chicago. I recently discovered a wonderful story here on Fanfic. net, called "Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles," by Proudhousewife! I love the story's strong morals of friendship and bravery, and I **_**almost**_**considered reading it to my children! There's just one problem; I was very bothered by all the talk of Christianity in that story! I don't want my good Jewish children to grow up to be Christians! So I took the liberty of plagiarizing—er, re-writing—Proudhousewife's story, to make it more Jew-friendly! So here you have it: "Harry Potterman and the Half-Baked Latke!" Enjoy!**

* * *

Harry Potterman lived with his Aunt Petunia Sue, Uncle Ray, and cousin Michael Bob, in a quiet residential neighborhood in small-town South Carolina. He was a lanky boy with emerald green eyes blinking behind gigantic, nerdy glasses perched on an abnormally large nose, topped with a mane of black curly hair. Most peculiar about Harry's appearance was the scar in the middle of his forehead, shaped like the Hebrew letter lamed.

Harry slept in the cupboard under the stairs. Not that he was forced to, mind you. In fact, his aunt and uncle had a free bedroom with a perfectly working heating and air conditioning system, and plenty of space, which they often urged Harry to move into. But somehow, Harry preferred the cupboard. "It's just so much more cost-effective, here," he would explain to his aunt and uncle. "It's exactly the amount of space I need, and meanwhile, we'll still have that free bedroom for guests, or in case you guys have another baby!" Uncle Ray and Aunt Petunia Sue would then look at each other with worried eyes, as if something were emerging from Harry that they were trying very hard to bury.

Harry Potterman's life took a dramatic turn when he was eleven years old. It was Christmas Eve, and the family was sitting around by the crackling fire, watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (the classic version, not that Jim Carrey abomination). Much as he adored Dr. Seuss, Harry could never get passed the feeling of being distinctly out of place. While his Aunt and Uncle baked Christmas cookies and other sugary pastries each winter, Harry had a strong, unexplainable craving for something deep fried and crunchy. While they decorated their Christmas tree, he couldn't help but feel like they should be doing something with fire instead. And when he and Michael Bob opened presents under the tree, Harry always found it slightly odd to try opening all these gifts in one day, and if it wouldn't make more sense to spread them out over a stretch of, say, eight nights.

His thoughts were interrupted when a giant man burst down the front door! Uncle Ray, Petunia Sue, and Michael Bob huddled behind the Christmas tree in fear. Meanwhile, Harry just stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the busted door on the floor with disbelief_. It's gonna cost a fortune to fix that!_he thought.

But a shadow soon overtook that fallen door, as the giant man thundered into the room. Harry had never seen anyone so large in his life. The man was as wide as he was tall, with long curly brown hair, and a horrible handlebar mustache. The man was dressed in a slick leather jacket, and a Hawaiian shirt that showed far too much of his horrifically hairy chest, which was adorned with pimpin' medallions.

The giant man's bushy eyebrows turned up apologetically. "Sorry about that!" he said, in a gruff New York accent. Picking up the door, he explained, "I was gonna knock, but my bread-basket wound up getting' there first. Sometimes I think I could bear to lose a few pounds."

"_Sometimes_?" Petunia Sue said, eying the enormous man dubiously.

"Hey," the man straightened. "When you've got a gift like I've got, looks don't matter one bit!"

Harry cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt. But normally, when a new character enters a story, readers like to know his name."

"Harry!" Uncle Ray shot his nephew a scolding look. "Don't be sarcastic at our guest! It's not polite!"

"I'm sorry, I can't help it!" Harry apologized frantically, his attitude now swerving away from dry sarcasm into panicking-nerd territory. "I swear, I try to be a good polite Christian like you raised me! But somehow, this irritable sarcasm always just manages to tumble out."

"Of course it does!" the giant man said. "It's in yer blood, Harry! Anyway," the man thumbed to himself, "I'm Ron Jeremy, grounds keeper at Treifwarts School of Banking and Jewry."

"Grounds keeper?" Uncle Ray asked politely. "So you're what, like a janitor or something?"

"That's one of my jobs," Ron Jeremy replied. "But I also sell kosher hotdogs at sporting events, grow bananas in my garden for the school, tame one-eyed monsters, and patrol the grounds with my wiener dog."

"Hang on," Harry held up a hand, shaking his head. "Back up a few notches. What_is_that place, Truffle School of…?"

"_Treifwarts_School, of Banking and Jewry." Ron Jeremy corrected him. "It's where your parents were educated, and it's where_you're_gonna be educated!"

"Now just one moment, please," Uncle Ray begged, maintaining his polite smile. "If you'll just hear me out Mr. Jeremy. We've done our best to raise Harry to be a good Christian. We swore we'd stamp it out of him."

"Stamp out_what_?" Harry asked, throwing his hands up. "My self-deprecating sarcasm?"

Aunt Petunia Sue shrugged. "Among other things…"

Ron Jeremy then took a seat by the crackling fire place. "Did you ever make anything happen Harry? Anything you couldn't explain?"

"Like what?" Harry asked nervously.

Ron Jeremy narrowed his eyes. "Did ya ever make someone feel_really, really guilty_, without even having to try?"

An instant memory popped into Harry's mind. Once, when the family had gone to the zoo for Michael Bob's birthday, Harry had engaged a Brazilian python in what he thought would be an innocent conversation. The snake had complained about being locked in a cage all the time, having people gawk at him all day, and missing his jungle home. Harry had then made an offhand comment…

"Well, at least you know where you come from. I never even knew my mom and dad."

"Oh my god!" the snake gasped. "You're an orphan? I'm so sorry! I can at least talk to my family on Skipe. I didn't realize…oh man, I feel like such an asshole, bringing up my first-world problems to you…!"

"What? No, it's okay." Harry insisted. "I'm fine, really! I don't know why I even brought it up." He shrugged. "Guess I don't get out much either. Y'know, being a loner misfit and all."

The snake only grew more upset with himself. "I'm sorry kid, I'm so sorry! Man, I was planning on breaking out of this cage and causing a freak out throughout the zoo, but that would probably get you in trouble wouldn't it."

"Well, yeah, probably." Harry admitted. "My aunt and uncle would probably think_I_let you out."

"Oh god!" the snake shrunk into himself, grabbing his head with his tail (since he didn't have hands to face-palm with). "You're an orphan with no friends_and_you live with an abusive aunt and uncle?"

"What? No! Aunt Petunia Sue and Uncle Ray aren't abusive, they're actually pretty nice. It's just they can be kind of overbearing at times—"

But the snake was already recoiling into its next, hiding its head in shame.

Blinking back to the present, Harry yelled at Ron Jeremy, "I didn't do it on purpose, I swear! I was just trying to strike up conversation! I don't know why, but for some reason, I can never seem to have any conversation with anyone lasting more than five minutes without making them feel horribly guilty about something."

"Uh huh," Ron Jeremy poked the fire with one of the tools. "Anything else?"

In fact, there was a_lot_. Any time the family went shopping, for example, Harry somehow always managed to find the best bargain prices, without even looking. It was as if some magical force was drawing him to the best deals. Whenever the subject of sports came up in conversation, Harry found himself immediately steering the conversation to baseball. When other boys at school gasped and giggled around posters of Megan Fox or Britney Spears, he was thinking about Barbra Streisand. He also found it almost impossible to respond to anything without some geeky panic attack or sarcastic quip.

"Yeah," Harry finally admitted. "There's a few things."

"Well?" Ron Jeremy pressed. "You wanna learn how to control that power? You wanna follow in your dead mom and dad's footsteps and go to Treifwarts, where you'll learn how to be a proper Jew?"

Harry tried really, really hard to respond in a straightforward, polite manner, as his aunt and uncle had raised him to. But instead, what came out was, "Better than sittin' here and getting fat." Quickly he added, "Er, no offense Mr. Jeremy."

Ron Jeremy laughed jovially. "None taken! You'll make a great Jew, Mr. Potterman."

"Please Harry," his Aunt Petunia Sue urged, "We would really appreciate it if you'd reconsider."

"I would strongly prefer that you didn't go to that Jewish school," Uncle Ray added.

"And_I'd_strongly prefer that we hurry up and finish this dull prologue," Harry said flatly, "So we can get to the darned plot."

"Alright-y then," Ron Jeremy stood up. "Better get your school shopping out of the way. We're off to Bargain Alley!"

* * *

**A/N: My dad says that a good joke should never need explaining, but I think this one does, because it's not obvious what exactly this story is spoofing. **

**For starters, this story is a response to a recent troll story on this site called "Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles,"by Proudhousewife. If you want a laugh, give her story a shot, but be warned; it's extremely offensive to both Christians and non-Christians, so go in with a sense of humor, and remember, don't try to reason with the troll. **

**Second, a Jewish spoof like this is nothing new. The title for this story comes from a play that the kids at my synagogue once did, called "Harry Potterman and the Chanukiah of Fire." We commonly did educational plays by doing comical, "Jewish" versions of famous stories like "The Wizard of Oz" and "Harry Potter." Many educational shows for Jewish children, like "Shalom Sesame" and "Aleph Bet Blast Off," do this kind of thing too; just check out the "Shalom Sesame" episode featuring "Jerusalem Jones" and "Pe TV!"**

**Finally, **_**exploitation films**_**. Back in the '70s and '80s, there was a genre of movies called "Blaxploitation films," featuring African American action heroes, and packed with positive stereotypes. Since then, various minority groups have made spoofs of that kind of action flick. "Undercover Brother" is a spoof of Blaxploitation films; the "Machete" movies do this for Hispanics; and of course, "The Hebrew Hammer" is the Jewish exploitation movie.**

**This story will ****_not_**** be updated regularly. I'm going to treat it more like a series of little "episodes" rather than a novella, with maybe the vaguest hint of an ongoing plot. Don't hope for regular updates; I have far more serious fics I'm focusing my attention on.**


	2. Bargain Alley

**A/N: I don't own "Harry Potter"**

* * *

Ron Jeremy took Harry on a plane ride to Madison, Wisconsin, and then led him to a quaint little family restaurant, owned by a friendly but slightly weird Jewish couple. The restaurant was filled with antique toys, carnival pieces, and arcade games, with the purpose of creating a family atmosphere. However, the old quality of the toys mixed with the dim lighting instead made the place seem like some kind of demonic, haunted carnival, and gave Harry the creeps. Whoever owned this place _obviously_ wasn't human.

Harry looked around the restaurant awkwardly, while Ron Jeremy searched the cluttered walls, apparently looking for something. "So, Bargain Alley is somewhere in Madison?"

"No, no, no." Ron Jeremy answered. "Bargain Alley's in New York. But the magical secret entrance is in this little, unsuspecting building! Would you believe this cute family restaurant is owned by a pair of _vampires_?"

At a table nearby, a little girl was laughing merrily at a statue of an old-fashioned Jack-in-the-Box. The girl's teenaged brother and sister were both staring at the clown with wrinkled noses, clearly just as creeped out by this place as Harry.

Slowly, Harry answered Ron Jeremy's question: "Yyyyyeeees…."

Ron Jeremy finally stopped in front of an old "Lion King" pinball machine, from the '90s. "Here we go! Now we just gotta…" he put a quarter in, and focused intently on the pinball game.

For a second, it looked like he might lose, but then he hit the coconut into the home base of Pride Rock, and the game console lit up with congratulations. The entire pinball machine then slid aside like a door, revealing a small doorway in the wall. Harry stared through the doorway in amazement. Through it he saw the skyscrapers of New York, filled with people hustling and bustling by in a hurry.

"There ya be, Mr. Potterman," Ron Jeremy said proudly. "Bargain Alley, in downtown Brooklyn."

"Wow!" Harry hopped through the doorway.

It took a few minutes for Ron Jeremy to squeeze through, and Harry had to help tug him, but finally the giant man came out of the doorway with a loud pop.

"First off," Ron Jeremy panted, "We gotta go to the bank and get you yer money!"

* * *

The "Secret Stash Bank," where all of the Jews in the world apparently stored their secret stashes of gold, was located right at the center of Bargain Alley. When the goblin banker opened the vault where Harry's parents had left him his inheritance, Harry couldn't believe his eyes. They were staring at a room _filled_ with piles and piles of gold and silver coins!

"Holy molly!" Harry exclaimed. "You mean I've been rich this whole time and never even realized it?"

"Er…" Ron Jeremy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

The goblin banker (who looked remarkably like Fagin from "Oliver Twist") snorted. "Don't get excited kid. That's tin foil you're looking at."

Harry blinked slowly. "Come again?"

The goblin picked up one of the gold coins, and pulled back the foil wrapping, to reveal a disc of milk chocolate within.

Ron Jeremy cleared his throat. "This ain't yer actual money, Harry. This is the gelt yer parents planned to give you over the course of your childhood, each Hanukkah. Your actual money's over there." He pointed to a tiny wooden piggy bank, sitting in the back of the room.

Harry walked into the vault and picked up the piggy bank with a sigh. "Treif," he muttered, before unplugging the pig to shake out the money. Exactly two dollars and fifty-one cents fell into his hand.

"Don't worry Harry," Ron Jeremy assured him. "If you're the son of Leah and Josh Potterman, you'll have the fiscal skills to wring all the school supplies you need out of that two-fifty, plus a new pet!"

* * *

Naturally, Ron Jeremy was right. Before lunchtime, Harry had managed to find the best deals on all of his school supplies, and then talk the shopkeepers down to even lower prices. By high noon, he had a pile of textbooks, with labels like "Math," "Intro to Arguing," "Sarcasm 101," and "The Secret to Jewish Guilt." After that, Ron Jeremy insisted that Harry get himself a pet, and took him to the pet shop to pick one out. In a mistake that would haunt Harry for the rest of his life, he bought a cute little parrot that he named Hamantashen. Not only did the bird talk nonstop, but he did it in a loud, squawking voice with an over-the-top New York accent, that put everyone else in Bargain Alley to shame. He reminded Harry of a really annoying comedian/voice actor, whose name escaped him at the moment.

"Oh boy!" the parrot squawked, from where he sat on the pile of books in Harry's arms. "First year of school! I can't wait! I went to school once, but I got permanently expelled for telling a really tasteless joke at the wrong time! It was just after that Tsunami in Japan happened, and we were having some Japanese guests over, and everyone started talking about what they'd do on summer vacation. Then someone asked the Japanese guys if they were gonna go to the beach, and I said, 'In Japan, they don't go to the beach, the beach comes to them!' I can't believe I got expelled just for one idiotic joke! I mean okay, it was lame. I admit that. I coulda' come up with something more creative. And it might've been poorly timed…"

"Ugh," Harry rubbed his face with his free hand. "Are we done yet, Mr. Jeremy?"

"Not quite," Ron Jeremy held up a finger. "There's one last thing. Ya gotta buy a wand!"

Ron Jeremy left Harry to find a wand on his own, while he went to look around a video store. The wand shop was practically empty, save for one other boy who was trying out wands. He was Harry's age, pale and blonde, dressed in an expensive looking pinstriped suit. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about the boy's gelled-back hair, pointy eyebrows, and snobbish composure seemed to scream, "Attention audience: bad guy introduction!" Before Harry could strike up a conversation with the boy to confirm this, the geeky shop keeper hurried over to assist him.

"Welcome, welcome, to Half-Price Wands! I'll be glad to help you—"

"Ooo! Ooo!" Hamantashen squawked from Harry's shoulder. "Can I try a wand? I've always wanted to know what a real magic wand is like! I've used a hypnotic snake staff before, but never a wa—"

Harry clamped the parrot's beak shut with one hand, and replied, "I'll take a wand, and some duct tape if you got it."

After Hamantashen's beak was firmly taped shut, the shopkeeper ran to fetch a wand for Harry to try out. While he rummaged through the shelves, the blonde boy turned to Harry.

"Pleasure to meet you," the boy said, brushing invisible dirt off his perfectly clean suit. "Drecko Mamzer. You don't have to kneel just now, I can see your hands are full. Of course you know, I assume, that my father is Lobus Mamzer, the man who runs this city—_off the record_ of course…"

"Erm, actually no, I didn't know that," Harry shifted his pile of school supplies in his arms, ignoring the muffled squawks of his muzzled parrot. "I'm a bit new to this whole Jewish thing. I don't even know what I'll do with this education when I'm done with it! But since I'm the main character, I feel compelled to do something heroic. I'm thinking of maybe going into do-gooding. You know, feeding the poor, working towards world peace, that sort of thing. Maybe I can talk the Palestinians and Israelis out of killing each other!" he laughed dubiously.

Drecko Mamzer sneered. "You'd negotiate with that savage bunch of terrorists?"

Harry frowned. "I was under the impression that Palestinians were people, like Israelis."

Drecko snorted. "If you ask me, we should just nuke every Arab country on the planet, and arrest every Muslim in this one. That entire terrorist-supporting, anti-Semitic religion should be wiped off the face of the earth."

Harry gapped with disbelieve. Was this boy trolling him? Surely he couldn't be that stupid, crazy, or asshole-ish. Maybe he'd had a relative blown up by a suicide bomber; not exactly a justifiable reason for bigotry, but at least a forgivable one.

"How many Muslims have you actually known?" Harry asked patiently. "Did someone you know get hurt by one?"

"No," Drecko replied, as if Harry had asked him a stupid question. "Why would I ever have contact with any of those sand monkeys?"

Summoning all his patience, Harry retorted, "It's just funny. Cuz I talked to a Muslim lady on the flight to Madison earlier today, and she didn't support terrorism _or_ have a problem with me being Jewish! She's got a cousin who's part of a Palestinian/Israeli peace group, and I got along with her just fine! Though I think Ron Jeremy might've scared her a little bit—"

"Then she wasn't really a Muslim, was she." Drecko replied, once again brushing off his sleeve.

Harry had officially run out of patience with this twit. From the tone of Hamantashen squawking, his bird agreed with him. It was hard to tell, with his beak taped shut, but it sounded like the parrot was urging Harry to give Drecko a nice clobber over the head with his heaviest textbook. Harry was glad to oblige, but before he got the chance, the shop keeper returned with a long, wooden wand.

"Try this one," the man said. "Mahogany wood, contains the scale of a gefilte fish from the Dead Sea."

Harry gave the wand a wave, and several boxes flew off the shelves, tumbling into the floor. Drecko hopped away from the mess irritably. The shop keeper swiped the wand from Harry.

"Don't think so. Try this one."

He handed Harry a strange silver instrument, elegantly carved, with a chain dangling from one end, and a tiny pointing hand on the other.

"Uh," Harry examined the wand awkwardly. "Which end do I…?"

"Wait a minute," the shopkeeper snatched back the instrument. "That's a Yad, dunno how _that_ got in there. Okay try this one." He handed Harry another wooden wand. "Carved from a busted bimah, contains the seed of a jelly doughnut. Give it a wave!"

Harry tried the wand. This time, the wand flew right out of his hand, and put a bullet-sized hole in the glass window.

"Some Jew _you_ are," the Drecko snorted. "Your mother's probably an Italian."

Harry threw him a look, less out of offense at the insult itself than how lame it was.

The shopkeeper offered Harry a third wand. "Try this one. Carved from a baseball bat, contains one white sock from the foot of one of the Chicago White Sox."

Harry grimaced and took the wand carefully. He almost asked if the sock inside was washed, then decided he didn't want to know. He gave the wand a wave. This time, nothing bad happened. Instead, blue and silver sparks emitted from its tip, shaped like tiny glowing stars of David. Harry felt a rush of energy through his body, and could swear he was hearing dramatic music coming from somewhere close by.

"How strange," the shopkeeper mused. "I remember every wand I ever sold. The baseball player who donated his sock to this wand gave one other sock, just one. How strange that this should be your wand, when its brother was the wand that jinxed the 1919 World Quibbish Series! The same wand that was wielded by the Dark Lord, Volgenschmort . How strange when this wand's brother, why, it's brother gave you that scar!"

Harry subconsciously touched the _lamed_ on his forehead.

"Maybe you're not so bad after all," Drecko mused. "Wanna be partners in crime—er, best friends?"

Finally at the end of his rope, Harry spat, "I don't know, am I worthy to be your partner in crime? Let me just practice my hexes to see if I'm skilled enough. SHEILA-KAZING!"

Harry actually didn't know any hexes, and just blurted out something he'd heard on "Spongebob." But apparently it worked. As soon as he yelled the words and jabbed his wand in Drecko's direction, the boy was transformed into a squeaking, scuttling ferret.

Harry gave a short nod. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

His muzzled parrot mirrored his nod.

He paid the wand seller, who gave a passing glance at Drecko, but otherwise didn't react to anything that had just happened. Apparently this sort of thing was commonplace in his shop. Harry hurried out of the store before Drecko the ferret could coordinate himself and bite him.

Harry caught up with Ron Jeremy at the video shop, and spent the next few hours wondering about what the wand seller had told him. Later that day, over a snack of lox and bagels, Harry finally popped the question to Mr. Jeremy: "Who's Volgenschmort? And what's the got to do with my lamed scar?"

Ron Jeremy paused in the middle of spreading his cream cheese. Slowly, he put his bagel down, and locked eyes with Harry.

"Pay attention to this Harry," Ron Jeremy said darkly. "Because not all Jews are good." He glanced over his shoulder, as if worried someone was watching them. "Volgenschmort was a crime lord whose reign of terror terrorized New York for half a century. He was up to his neck in evil and corruption. Murder, bootlegging, gambling, prostitution, lame jokes, sending women photos of his wiener, really sick shit. Your mom and pop fell victim to Volgie's 'protection racket,' and one day they weren't able to make their monthly payment. A sad story you'd hear all too often, back then."

Harry swallowed. He realized, for the first time, that his mother and father _hadn't_ been eaten by a giant demon rhinoceros from the sky, as his aunt and uncle had always told him.

"And what Volgenschmort would do," Ron Jeremy continued, "when that happened, he'd go around the city with his henchmen, and hose his victims down with a Tommy gun. Usually with some dramatically mournful soundtrack going on in the background, and intercut with scenes of someone else celebrating a baptism or giving a speech."

Harry frowned, his eleven-year-old mind unable to grasp the "Godfather" reference.

"But _that_ night," Ron Jeremy whispered, "just when he was reaching the end of one of these killing montages, when he came to your house Harry…he killed your parents, but he couldn't kill you. You were only a baby, a cute little one-year-old baby with dorky glasses and a Jew-fro bigger than you were, but the Dark Crime Lord couldn't kill you. Instead, the bullets just made that funny scar on your face, before ricocheting off your skull and hitting Volgenschmort through the left eye."

"And killed him?" Harry asked hopefully.

Ron Jeremy snorted. "_You wish_. It'd sure be a short series if it had! No, Volgenschmort just fled to Mexico after that, and he's been in hiding ever since. But mark my words, he'll be back, probably before Chapter Four." Ron Jeremy was rambling now, talking more to himself than to Harry. "Yes, I'd bet you a lifetime supply of hamantashen he'll be back every school year, trying ta kill you, but just barely failing, so you'll live to star in another book. But when your seven years at Treifwarts ends, who knows. The author finally kill you off at the climax, just for dramatic effect." Suddenly seeing Harry's expression, Ron Jeremy added quickly, "I wouldn't worry too hard about it though. The odds of this turkey even selling well enough to warrant one sequel is dismal, much less six! Ten bucks says this saga will be over before you've hit puberty. Well, let's finish up so we can get going. Only one week before you have to get on that train to your first year of school!"

"I can hardly wait," Harry sighed.

* * *

**A/N: The creepy family restaurant is based on a real place. I won't say the name (partially out of respect for the owners, and partially because I forgot). Every time my family visits Madison, we stop at that restaurant. Our hometown is very small and not very diverse, so when we come across a Jewish restaurant on vacation, we **_**have**_** to stop there. Unfortunately, this one is sincerely creepy. I loved it as a small child, for all the toys and decorations, but as an adult it felt like a haunted carnival. 0_0 **

**Useless trivia: "Dreck" is Yiddish for "shit" (and my Grandma is fond of that word). A couple of the other Yiddish words actually required a little research. "Mamzer" means "bastard," and "Lobus" means "little monster." **

"**Treif" means "not kosher" (and is said by Prince John in "Robin Hood: Men in Tights.") "Hamantashen" is a desert eaten on the Pruim holiday, and it's delicious. "Volgenschmort" and "Quibbish" mean absolutely nothing; I just made them up. **


	3. The Treifwarts Express

**A/N: I don't own "Harry Potter."**

* * *

The Treifwarts Express was packed when Harry stepped aboard. His social awkwardness tempted him to just find an empty compartment and hibernate until the trip was over. But then he remembered he had Hamantashen with him, and the thought of being alone in a confided space with that parrot for a five-hour train ride was unthinkable. (Right now, the bird was randomly insulting passersby, and asking obnoxious questions about pointless things, in a manner that was supposed to be "comical," all of which Harry had managed to tune out as background noise.) Besides, Harry remembered, Ron Jeremy had advised him to try making friends, preferably ones that would make compelling sidekicks for his upcoming adventure.

Harry slowly walked past the compartments, glancing at the occupants through the windows. In one compartment sat a group of gossiping "Jewish princesses" and their jock boyfriends. He definitely didn't want that bunch for sidekicks; not unless this story was supposed to be a rip off "Jersey Shore." In the next compartment were a bunch of soft-spoken nerdy kids, who would probably make a great cast for some educational, politically correct family show. He glanced at the third compartment, then gasped and bolted; it contained Rob Schneider.

The fourth compartment made him pause. There were two occupants, a boy and a girl. The boy had flame red hair, closely cropped except for two curls dangling in front of his ears. He was dressed like an undertaker, with a black hat and suit, and looked even more socially challenged than Harry. Across from him sat a girl with a mane of bushy brown hair, paging through a textbook labeled "Insufferable Know-It-All's Guide to Social Interaction." What the hell, Harry thought. He stepped into the cart.

"Oh my gawd," the redhead squeaked when the door slid opened, "Yer Harry Potterman!"

The girl looked up from her book. "Harry Potterman! I've read all about you. Your Wikipedia article says you're the most powerful Jew in history! You can get out of a straightjacket while in a tank full of sharks, undo handcuffs, and the Overboard Box Escape—"

"Um," Harry scratched his neck, "I think you're thinking of Harry Houdini."

"Oh."

"I'm the Harry who apparently chased off Lord Volgenschmort when I was a baby." He lifted up his black curls to show off his lamed.

"That was going to be my second guess," the girl said quickly, then extended her hand. "Hadassah Griper."

"Hi Hadassah," Harry shook her hand, then turned to the redhead.

"Ron Weaselwitz," the boy said in a nasally voice.

"Hey, you have the same name as the school caretaker!" Harry commented. "Boy, this could get confusing…"

"Yeah," Ron Weaselwitz sighed. "Too bad that's about all I have in common with him…"

"It won't be a problem," Hadassah said matter-of-factly. "No one ever calls the caretaker 'Ron' or even 'Mr. Jeremy.' He's known only by his full name. So there shouldn't be too much confusion."

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Well, I guess that works then."

"So what denomination are you?" Ron Weaselwitz asked Harry. "Reformed?"

"Well uh…I'm not sure. I never even knew I _was_ Jewish, until Ron Jeremy knocked down my door and made me relive the time I made a snake feel really guilty. Believe me, that sentence was just as weird to say as it was to hear."

"Hey, I'm new here too!" Hadassah said, bagging her book. "My mom's a Catholic. I'm mainly going to Treifwarts because Mom's still having flashbacks about Catholic School, and thought the Jewish one might be less traumatic for me. My dad's Jewish though, so I guess that makes me a half-blood."

From outside the compartment door snarled the muffled voice of Guess Who. "You can't be Jewish if your mother wasn't Jewish! They shouldn't let half-bloods into this school."

"I thought I turned you into a ferret!" Harry snapped.

Drecko Mamzer scowled though the little window. "I got better."

"_Really_," Hadassah rolled her eyes. "I was baptized Jewish at birth, I've gone to synagogue every Friday since I was a tot, and I'm having a bat mitzvah. I've been preparing for the last three years."

"_Haaaaalf-bloooood!_" Drecko hissed.

In the window, two obese boys suddenly rose up into view like killer whales popping up for air, coming up on either side of Drecko.

"Allow me to introduce my two thugs," Drecko sneered. "Flab and Moyel! I figure since I'll be busy bullying you Harry, someone's got to take care of your two sidekicks!"

"Woa, hang on a minute!" Ron's hands few up defensively. "Who said I was his sidekick? I never agreed to be anybody's sidekick! Please, I'm just a nerd from Borough Park!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know you Weaselwitz!" Drecko sneered. "Your parents have like a million kids, each dorkier than the last!"

"My god," Harry collapsed into a seat. "I never thought I'd be eager for Lord Volgenschmort to try and kill me, but I think I'll give _anything_ to speed up this plot. We're not really gonna spend an entire chapter arguing with two-dimensional bullies, are we?"

"_Did someone say bullies?_" a voice echoed.

Everyone froze in mid-conversation, staring at Ron Weaselwitz's school bag. Ron groaned and began rubbing his temples.

The bag began to glow, with an intense purple light that gave one the impression of low-budget special effects from the '90s, and a bright rainbow suddenly shot out of the school bag. Riding the rainbow was a purple Muppet mouse, dressed corporate casual with a blue vest covered in stars of David.

"God doesn't like it when you pick on your classmates!" the mouse declared, to no one in particular. "And it just so happens that I know an educational song about bullying!"

Harry stared at the mouse, with his mouth half opened, and his hand still half-raised in an expressive gesture. Hadassah just looked stunned.

"Pfft, 'education'!" Hamantashen squawked, from his perch on Harry's schoolbag. "The last time I tried ta get an education I got expelled! For making a joke about the Tsunami! It went like this: In Japan, they don't go to the beach. The beach comes to—"

"You shouldn't disrespect a national tragedy like that," the mouse said cheerfully. "I know a little song that might teach you a lesson about respect…!"

"_NO!_" Harry, Ron and Hadassah screamed, but to no avail.

The silver lining of the situation was that Drecko and his two henchmen were driven away by the off-tune, horribly written musical number. The downside was that Harry, Hadassah and Ron had to spend the next three and a half minutes listening to a squeaking mouse and a screeching parrot perform a duet about learning and sharing.

Ron mumbled under the animal's singing, "I'm really sorry guys. He's a, uh, 'mitzvah mouse.' My parents couldn't afford to get me a dog, so…"

"A mitzvah mouse!" Hadassah exclaimed with academic interest. "I've read about those things! They stalk after little Jewish kids, and try to educate them about good deeds and the Hebrew alphabet, usually through song! I hear they're horrendously annoying!"

"I'm afraid to ask," Harry said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But are _all_ the pets at this school gonna be talking animal sidekicks with New York accents?"

They eventually silenced the two singing animals by waiting until they were both sitting inside Harry's school bag (during a verse that called for miming rowing a boat), and quickly zipping them shut inside. Harry then stuffed the schoolbag in the upper storage compartment and locked it shut, for good measure. The three friends spend the rest of the train ride getting to know each other, and working out what each of their story arcs would be. By the time the train was slowing to a stop, it had been decided that Harry was the hero of the group, Hadassah was the brains, and Ron was the dopey foil to both.

They stepped out in front of a castle that Harry had to admit was actually kind of cool looking. It was like something out of those stylized Jewish art pieces he'd seen in some of the shops at Bargain Alley: a series of towers and walls, many with domed roves, all odd colors like dark blue, turquoise, wine-red, and periwinkle. The entire thing was encompassed by a moat that seemed to be filled with wine. Ron Jeremy was waiting for the students getting off the train, holding an enthusiastic wiener dog on a leash.

"Easy there, Snake," Ron Jeremy said to his dog, before announcing to the students, "Alright everyone, I'm Ron Jeremy, and I'll be escortin' you to the castle tonight, but we gotta make it quick. I got a license to teach, but if parents see me around their kids they'll wanna call 911. So let's get moving!"

As the crowd made their way through the forest, Ron Weaselwitz elbowed Harry and pointed to the castle.

"My brothers told me about that moat! You gotta watch out for the giant gefilte fish."

As if on cue, a fish the size of a whale rose from the depths and engulfed an unsuspecting unicorn that had been drinking by the shore.

"Oh, don't worry about him," Ron Jeremy glanced over his shoulder at the kids. "I got swallowed by the giant fish once. You just spend three days in there, thinking over all your sins and why you suck, and then he barfs you back out again. I've lost count of how many times that guy's eaten me."

Hadassah muttered, "And I thought confession was bad."

There was a loud screech, and for a moment Harry feared Hamantashen had escaped his schoolbag; but then he realized it was just the sound of the castle lowering its drawbridge, which was actually a giant slab of matzah.

At this point, Ron Jeremy stopped and turned to face the crowd of students. "Well, this is where we part ways. The next chapter's got a lotta' new characters to introduce, so I'll have to step aside for a few scenes, to make room on the page. Otherwise, the author will be trying to keep track of so many characters at once, it'll be a bigger mess than 'Game of Thrones.'"

The caretaker and his wiener dog moved aside, and the young Jews made their way across the unleavened bridge.


	4. The Sorting Kippah

**A/N: I don't own "Harry Potter."**

* * *

The students gathered at the bottom of a grand staircase, where a no-nonsense looking woman peered down at them behind rectangular glasses. She wore a modest, high-collared business dress, with her black hair yanked up into a messy bun.

"Boys and girls," the woman said sternly, "I'm the vice principal of this school, Professor McShuggenah. In a few moments, you'll pass through these doors and join your classmates. But first, you must be sorted into your Houses. There are four houses of Treifwarts—"

"Ooo!" Hadassah bounced, sticking her hand up. "Ooo, ooo! I know this one! Orthodox, Conservative, Reformed, and Hassi—"

"No honey, not four denominations of Judaism. Four Houses of Treifwarts."

"Wait," Harry sighed, "Hang on, don't tell me. Um, Gryffinstein, Ravenberg, Slytherman—"

Professor McShuggenah spoke over the wise-cracking preteens. "Maccabee, Yeshiva, Hummus, and Murder Incorporated."

Harry stared. "…oh."

"These names come from the four founders of Treifwarts: Juda Maccabee, who valued physical badassedry and courage; Sir Moses Montefiore, who valued the Yeshiva style of learning; some guy named Fred who really liked hummus; and Arnold Rothstein, notorious mobster."

"Hang on," Hadassah protested. "Juda Maccabee lived in Ancient Greece, Moses Montefiore was Victorian, and Arnold Rothstein's from the Prohibition era! How—?"

McShuggenah waved her had as if explaining a minor technicality. "Fred was a member of a synagogue that had unknowingly purchased a used Tardis as its Torah Scroll Cupboard. A few time-traveling adventures later, he and the other three founders were best friends, and decided to put this school together. _Any more questions?_"

After some silence, Drecko asked, "Can we kill all the half-bloods?"

Hadassah clobbered him with a large ruler from her schoolbag. Turning to Ron and Harry, she explained, "A trick my mom picked up from the nuns."

Ron stared at Hadassah, star-struck. Harry face-palmed. _A love plot already? _They hadn't even finished puberty yet.

"And now," Professor McShuggenah said, "We'll step into the banquet hall, and begin the sorting ceremony!"

She led the kids up the stairs and through two tall blue doors decorated with gold lions. The Great Hall was lined with long tables covered in paper blue and white tablecloths, where the older students watched the first-years march in. Banners hung over each table, signifying the houses. A red banner with a gold hammer icon read "Maccabee." Above the next table hung a blue banner with a bronze torah school that read "Yeshiva." A yellow banner with a black spatula said "Hummus." And the final, green banner sported a silver stick figure of a mobster, complete with fedora and Tommy guns, under the name "Murder Inc." At the front of the hall was a grand table, where all the professors sat.

McShuggenah took the kids to the middle of the hall, stopping in front of a three-legged stool. On it sat an old battered baseball cap. The first years couldn't see which team it represented, since the hat currently had its snapback turned to them, as it apparently chugged some kind of drink in long, savoring gulps.

"Boys and girls," McShuggenah said proudly, "I present the Sorting Kippah!"

The hat quickly spun around on its stool, tossing a bottle of Manischewitz Kosher Wine behind it. A New York Yankees logo adorned the hat's white dome. The cap folded in on itself as it cleared its throat in embarrassment. Then it spoke, its navy blue brim moving like a duck's beak. "Hello boys and girls," the hat hiccupped. "Welcome to….eh…what's this school called again?" The hat had a Yiddish accent, and sounded like a chain-smoker.

"That's not a kippah!" Hadassah exclaimed. "That's a baseball cap!"

Testily, the hat replied, "I can keep a male Jew's head covered indoors, I'm a kippah. C'mon, a brainy nerd like you oughtta know that technicality!"

The hat folded in on itself once more, to pull out a piece of paper it had been storing under its dome. It looked like notes to a song.

"Oh god no," Harry muttered, "Not more singing…"

The hat bellowed,

"_If you are a Maccabee _

_Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum!_

_Then you are brave, courageous and true_

_And probably a badass tooooooo…."_

"_Well_," Harry sighed, "I wonder which house all the main characters are gonna end up in."

"_If you get Yeshiva _

_Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum!_

_Then you're a nerd who never will get laid_

'_till you grow up and make a six-figure salleryyyyyyyy….!"_

"God, he's off-key," a girl in the crowd said in a cringing voice.

"That didn't even rhyme," someone else added.

"_Hummus, what can you say about Hummus_

_A Hummus is healthy, sloppy, and bland_

_Just like the gunk they're named afteeeer…."_

"Seriously! Did you just write this thing five minutes ago?" a kid from the Hummus table asked.

The hat spat, "What do you want, a song and dance number? I think I'm doing okay for someone who doesn't even have vocal chords!" The hat cleared its throat, and sang its final verse:

"_If you get Murder Inc…_

_Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum!_

_Then you're the evil, money-grubbing crook_

_Giving Jews a bad naaaame…." _

"Well," Hadassah said, "I wonder which house Drecko and his goons will get."

The hat began to bow, and everyone realized its "song" was now finished. The Great Hall erupted in cheers and applause, mainly because the performance was over, not because anyone had enjoyed it.

"And now," Professor McShuggenah pulled out a long scroll. "I'll be calling the new students to the Sorting Kippah, in order of which characters the author feels like introducing at the moment." She cleared her throat. "Latke Loxgood!"

An eccentric-looking blonde girl with large, crazy-looking eyes drifted over to the sorting kippah. She was oddly dressed, with earrings made from plastic dreidels, and a necklace made from Manischewitz wine caps. The kippah sat on her head for some time before bellowing, "Yeshiva!"

McShuggenah consulted her scroll again. "Neville Rockbottom."

A plump little boy with glasses and anxiety to rival the rest of the school's put together timidly sat down on the wobbly stool and put on the cap. Almost immediately the kippah yelled, "Maccabee!"

Neville Rockbottom looked up anxiously at the hat on his head. "Are, are you sure? I thought you said Maccabee was for brave people."

"You _are_ brave, Neville Rockbottom! …er…very, very deep down!"

"Shouldn't a dork like me be in Yeshiva? Or maybe Hummus?"

The hat grumbled, "Look kid, do you wanna be a supporting character in this epic, or some background face in one of the houses no one cares about?"

Catching on, Neville said, "Maccabee sounds great!"

McShuggenah called the next name. "Susan Shankbones!"

A girl who looked average in every way approached the stool and picked up the hat. Before it even made contact with her head, it exclaimed, "Hummus!"

"I didn't even put you on yet!" Susan Shankbones protested.

"Hummus," the kippah retreated stubbornly.

"You're just saying that because I'm not a main character!" Susan pouted.

"Look kid, you're a minor character either way. So do you wanna get put into Maccabee, where all the serious shit's gonna go down, and be that supporting character who's 'too good for this sinful earth?' Or you wanna hang back in Hummus where you'll go un-noticed long enough to make it to graduation with your limbs all intact?"

"Hummus sounds radical," Susan sighed, and headed for the Hummus table.

McShuggenah cleared her throat. "Dean Tallis!"

A tall black boy took a seat at the stool.

Drecko sneered loudly, "I wonder what _his_ story is."

"My ancestors were converted by their slave owners," Dean explained. "Twit."

"So why keep your slave religion?" Drecko demanded.

"Have you ever tasted a dinner made by a mom who's black _and_ Jewish?"

Drecko had no banter for this, and the rest of the school immediately began to envy Dean Tallis.

"Since you stood up to that clichéd bully so well," the cap said, "I place you in Maccabee!"

"Sure, that's why," Dean scoffed. "Not because the 'best house' needs a token black kid."

"Would you rather be the token black kid on the team of heroes, or the black guy in the house full of expendables?" the hat gestured towards the Hummus and Yeshiva tables.

"Hey!" Susan Shankbones called from the Hummus table. "I thought you said these houses were the safest!"

"Depends what mood the author's in," the hat snuck another sip of wine, and hiccupped again.

Next was "Seamus Finnegan."

Everyone stared as the seemingly not-at-all-Jewish Irishman approached the stool.

"My family's converts," Seamus explained.

The hat gave it some thought. "Since the token black kid needs a sidekick, I'll put you in Maccabee."

"Sweet." Seamus joined his new best friend at the Maccabee table.

The next name was "Drecko Mamzer."

Drecko swaggered over to the Sorting Kippah and placed it on his bleach-blonde head.

"Maccabee!" the hat yelled.

Everyone froze in shocked terror, none more than Drecko.

"Just kidding," the hat said. "Murder Incorporated, where'd you think you'd go?"

Relieved, Drecko yanked off the hat and tossed it to whoever was next, before strolling over to the Murder Inc. table.

While the cap was still in the air, McShuggenah read, "Pansy Parkinstein."

From the crowd stepped a valley girl, dressed entirely in brand name clothes, with too much makeup and a plastic tiara.

"I was wondering when the obligatory Jewish Princess would show up," Hadassah commented.

Pansy caught the Sorting Kippah in midair, placed it elegantly over her tiara, and sat cross-legged on the stool.

"Murder Inc," the hat said, "Because something tells me you'd enjoy being a gangster's mol."

Pansy gleefully skipped over to the Murder Inc. table.

Next: "Hadassah Griper!"

Hadassah just stood there, and pointed accusingly at the cap. "I'm not letting that shikker kippah pick my house for me, he's drunk!"

"_Hic_-Am not!"

"Don't 'am not' me you discount piece of head gear! Look, my mom's family's Irish Catholic, I know what a drunk person looks like! And you are positively hammered!"

"No, _you're_ a hammer! A Maccabee hammer! Only a true Maccabee would possess such fire and hot-headed boldness! Congratulations!"

Hadassah threw up her hands. "You didn't even—! Oh, fine." She stomped off to the Maccabee table.

Ron Weaselwitz followed, and was sorted into Maccabee just as quickly.

And then….

"Harry Potterman!"

The entire school was silenced, as everyone watched Harry approach the stool.

"What's the tension for?" Hadassah griped. "Even if Maccabee wasn't the 'hero' house, the hat's already sorted both his sidekicks here. Does this author actually expect anyone to be on the edge of their seat about where Harry's gonna get sorted? Who's _writing_ this idiocy, anyway?"

Ron suggested, "I'm starting to think the Sorting Kippah's not the only one drinking on the job."

Harry sat awkwardly on the stool, while the cap pondered his fate.

"Let's see now…you've got a ready mind, eager to study both schoolwork and nerdy trivia…but you're also kind of a socially-challenged duffer, like a Hummus…."

"No shit Sherlock," Harry muttered, "I'm Jewish. Just pick something already!"

"How about Murder Inc?" the cap suggested.

Harry freaked. "No way dude!"

"Why not? You could be a great antihero! With you sarcasm and cynicism, why, Murder Inc. could help you become one of the most beloved villain protagonists in fiction! You'd get money, power, women…"

Harry had to admit, it was starting to sound tempting.

"…a snazzy suit, a sexy fedora, a tommy gun, a cigar….compelling monologues, a montage where all your henchmen kill off your enemies while you give a speech, a tragic romantic plot, and finally, an Oscar-worthy death scene, where you get hosed down with bullets in slow motion, decades before your time—"

"Yeah, you lost me at the 'tragic love plot.'" Harry said dryly. "Just make me a boring straight-edge hero who gets a happy ending, and put me in Maccabee."

"Wienie." The hat said. "Fine, have it your way. MACCABEEEEE!"

"_Ow, shit!_" Harry exclaimed, rubbing his throbbing ears.

Harry joined his two sidekicks at the table, and they watched the rest of the sorting ceremony play out. Now that all the actual characters had been sorted, the rest was just a string of background characters' names who's sorting seemed to get progressively more random as the hat got progressively more drunk.

When the ceremony finally ended, an old man with a white beard rose from the head table, smiling broadly. "And now that the student characters have been introduced," he said merrily, "We'll begin the next activity for the evening… after this commercial break!"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the abrupt ending, but I can only come up with so many character names at once. **


End file.
